Bits of Bliss
by Mardahin
Summary: Five conventional reasons not to tie the knot. Sequel to "Bound" and "Slices of Monogamy." Gwen/Owen, background Jack/Ianto.
1. 1A Family Obligations, Weddings

**Author's Note: **This was intended to be a counter-part to "Slices of Monogamy", but it grew a bit big for its britches. What was going to be 5 flashes has turned into 7 segments looking at over 20 years of Torchwood's future. Conceived and begun before Series 2 started airing, "Bits of Bliss" is now AU as it (obviously) does not reflect certain events in newly revealed canon. In addition, two of the five flashes have further been divided into something akin to a "his" and "hers".

- - - - -  
**I. Family Obligations:**  
_A. Weddings_  
- - - - -

_Late Spring, 2008_

"Gwen, there you are! I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost." Sioned Cooper smiled and waved at her older sister with the hand not holding a spool of white ribbon. "Come on in and grab a roll. Bit of confusion in the scheduling, so they only let us in an hour ago instead of at noon. Have to get all of the decorations sorted before we can get anything else done. Did you get your dress?"

Gwen blinked at the rapid-fire greeting. "Picked it up on the way over." She shrugged out of her jacket and purse and set them on the nearest pew before giving her sister a hug. "Sorry I'm late."

"Don't apologize, I'm just glad you got here. I know I said that all you had to do was show up for the wedding and wear the right dress, but things have gotten crazy tonight and we can use all the help we can get." Sioned pulled away and grabbed a plastic bag full of pre-tied bows, shoving them into Gwen's arms and turning to point at the far corner of the room. "Daniel's already over there with the ladder, I'm sure he'll be glad of the help. Mark's mother is coordinating, so check with her if you have any questions. Mam's off talking to the florist, I'll tell her you're here when she gets back. Thanks again for coming early. We'll do the procession rehearsal in two hours when the minister gets here. Ta!"

Sioned turned and was halfway down the aisle before Gwen had even managed to form a thought, never mind an objection. If she hadn't known better, she'd have sworn that her sister had been speaking a foreign language. With a sigh, Gwen adjusted her armload of decorations. She might be tired, but it was only one evening. There were worse things than spending a few hours hanging decorations and getting a free meal out of it. She could smile and make small talk without offending anyone. Especially if Aunt Carys wasn't showing up until the morning.

Daniel was attractive, outgoing, and athletically inclined. He was also single, available, and persistent. Gwen would have appreciated his attention a lot more had she not been emphatically off the market. It was almost enough to convince her to just tell her family and be done with it. Almost. She wanted to get them used to Owen before she broke the big news. Preferably over the course of several years.

Gwen gave up on getting her point of _not interested_ through Daniel's markedly thick skull after the first hour, short of telling him she was married (and seeing as he was the groom's best friend, no way that secret stayed quiet for any length of time) the man was apparently unable to take a hint. Her only consolation was that he made for good eye candy, and that his attempts at flirting grew more creative as the evening wore on, and were interspersed with genuine conversation. At least it passed the time.

"So, what do you do in your spare time?"

"Spare time?" Gwen asked absently as she stretched to place the second-to-last bow.

"Yeah, you know, that thing after work and before sleep?"

She climbed down a few rungs, and then hopped off and landed next to him. "Don't know. Been a while since I had much of that."

"Workaholic, eh?"

She cocked her head to the side, studying him. "I guess you could say that. What about you?"

He shrugged, steadying the ladder as she climbed up to place the final bow. "I'm a solicitor, what can I say? Making partner by thirty didn't exactly come without sacrifices."

As she descended, Gwen paused on the bottom rung to look him in the eye. "I'm going to give you a piece of advice, because I don't know what my sister told you, but you don't want to date me. Cut back on your hours and find yourself a nice girl. You'll enjoy your life a whole hell of a lot more." She stepped down and pulled the ladder closed. "I'm not that kind of a nice girl."

Daniel raised an eyebrow as he watched her walk away. "You never know..."

--...--...--

The next morning, Gwen woke up to the smell of coffee and a hangover she didn't remember deserving. Owen appeared in the doorway a moment later, mug in hand. "Morning, Sweet Cheeks. Sleep well?"

She groaned and lobbed a pillow at him before closing her eyes again.

"Still touchy about the nickname, eh?" She didn't have to bother opening her eyes to know he was smirking.

"Owen, for the love of God, how are you this chipper at..." She rolled over and forced her eyes to open so she could read the bedside clock. "Half-ten??" She sat up, suddenly wide awake. "You let me sleep until _half-ten_?? We have to be at the church in an hour!"

"Oh, come off it." His tone was soft, despite his words, as he took the few necessary steps to reach the bedside and hand her the mug. "It'll take you all of ten minutes to shower. That gives you twenty minutes to dress and have a coffee, and we still get there early. So drink."

She did, and let out a quiet moan of pleasure. She took another sip, and narrowed her eyes in suspicion. There was no way Owen had made coffee this good. Only Ianto made coffee this good, but that would mean... "Owen...Not to complain, exactly, but where did you get this coffee?"

Even if his face gave nothing away, his emotions did. "You didn't!" Owen reached down and took the now-empty mug from her. "You _did!_ Owen, I thought we agreed you were going to come with me today. _Remember_?"

Owen remembered. Gwen had spent the better part of a week giving him the cold shoulder, both mentally and physically. While the make-up shag had been incredible, he didn't fancy enduring the lead-in again any time soon. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I called in a favour with Ianto, that's all. Thought you could use it, especially with how you looked when you got in last night."

She winced. "That bad?"

"Worse. You get something for the headache after your shower, but not until that coffee's had a chance to settle. Meanwhile, I'm going to try not to burn toast. No promises." With that, he disappeared into the hallway and left her to her own devices.

--...--...--

By the time the wedding itself happened, Gwen was so anxious she was giving _Owen_ the jitters, and they weren't even in the same room. He had no idea what went on in the female half of wedding preparations, but he couldn't believe that all of it was responsible for Gwen's emotional state. She was angry and nervous in fits and starts, with a strong dose of general frustration about the edges. She hadn't been this upset when she'd met _his_ family, and they knew about the marriage.

As always happens, there were minor catastrophes. The flower girl went running for her mother halfway through the procession, and the videographer had a technical glitch in the midst of the exchange of rings, but nothing that would leave lasting emotional damage. The two incidents did nothing to settle Gwen's nerves, however. Had it been any other situation, Owen might have filed it away to tease her with later, but not this time. This was one of those things that he knew they'd never have, something which he knew she'd wanted before Torchwood had entered her life and stolen away everything she thought she knew.

He hoped that wasn't what this was about, but regret surfaced at odd times for all of them. As the thought occurred to him, he found himself wishing that he hadn't blown her off when she'd first asked, turning it into a fight that had nothing to do with the actual wedding. Gwen talked about her family less than he did about his, and that was saying something.

--...--...--

Gwen shifted uncomfortably in her shoes, wishing that Sioned hadn't insisted on 4-inch heels for her vertically challenged maid of honour. She glanced down the aisle, trying to gauge how much longer she had before she could kiss her sister and escape to the relief of a pair of flats currently resting in the boot of Owen's car. Her smile grew more genuine as she noticed Owen politely shaking hands with Mark, but froze as he turned toward her with a smirk. She recognized that smirk; it was the same smirk he got before starting something which _always_ landed them in some kind of trouble. The kind of trouble which ended up with her feeling all of six years old and being scolded for breaking her mother's vase.

When he stopped in front of her and extended a hand, she felt a spike of desire warm her cheeks, but before she could warn him not to even think about it, he was kissing her as if his life depended on it. She struggled for a moment before giving in, knowing that this was going to blow up in their faces but too far gone to care. When he let her up, she smacked him in the shoulder just hard enough to sting and tried to ignore the blush that she knew had crept up her cheeks. "You _wanker_."

He grinned and shrugged before turning away, nodding to her parents before stepping out the front doors. She sobered as she realized that both her parents and her sister were staring at her expectantly. "What? He's my flatmate, that's all. He's just having a laugh."

Her mother nodded slowly, and turned back to her conversation with Mark's mother. Her father shot her a speculative glance, but said nothing either. Gwen tried to start plotting Owen's untimely demise, but it was half-hearted at best. Unconventional methods or not, he'd managed what nothing else had that morning – he'd forced her to relax. Shooting another glance down the line of guests, Gwen suppressed a groan as she saw her Aunt Carys approaching. She was _never_ doing this again.

--...--...--

The drive to the reception was short, and Gwen spent the time rubbing her feet and making a mental list of relatives to avoid in the coming hours. Luckily, if her family stayed true to form, they'd be doing just as much of the avoiding as she was. After they had parked, she reached down to undo her seat belt only for Owen to catch her hand and clasp it firmly. She looked up, and found an unusually serious expression on his face. She opened her mouth to ask, but he shook his head and she closed it again. It was a long moment before he spoke.

"I know I shouldn't ask this, because it's stupid and pointless and probably clinically insane, but-"

"Owen, for God's sake, just spit it out."

"Did you want this? _Do_ you want this?"

She blinked. "This?"

He gestured with his free hand. "The dress, the church, the family shit, all of it. Do you wish you'd had it?"

She laughed, but sobered quickly as his reaction rippled through their bond. "Wait, you're serious, aren't you?"

"Guess I am, yeah."

"Then, speaking seriously, no. The ta-do is all fine and good, but it's not us, it's not _me_. Certainly not any more, and maybe it never really was. Knowing my family, if I'd married Rhys I'd have had a wedding half this size, with two bride's maids and a honeymoon in Swansea. If I'd married you like this, first, it wouldn't have happened. And second, even if it had, the rift would probably have opened up right in the middle of it and we'd have had to Retcon the whole guest-list. Neither options seems terribly appealing."

"When you put it that way, I rather like our version as well." As he relaxed, she realized just how tense he'd been as he waited for her answer. "Right, that's sorted. Next time you get into a fight with my mum, I want you to remember that this is me being supportive. Shall we?"

Gwen was halfway out of the car before she realized the inequality in his statement. "But I _like_ your mum!"

--...--...--

Owen made it two hours into the reception riding on small talk and polite smiles before Gwen's father managed to corner him by the bar. He'd known the conversation was coming ever since he'd kissed her in the church, and some part of him just wanted it over and done with. It had been a long time since Owen had met the parents, not since Jenny, back before he joined Torchwood (and hadn't _that_ turned out well).

One thing Owen could respect about Gwen's father was that he didn't bother wasting time on idle pleasantries. "I'm not stupid, Owen. If you're living with Gwen, and she brought you to her sister's wedding, then you're more than just flatmates. As her father, I'd like to cover my bases, get the unpleasantness over at the outset and move on to better things. So, are you interested in marriage?"

Owen shrugged and sipped his drink, wishing not for the first time that afternoon that he wasn't the one driving them home that evening. "Might do."

Her father nodded. "What about kids?"

Owen coughed as a sip of beer went down the wrong way.

Mr. Cooper raised an eyebrow, making a face that he probably considered intimidating. For Owen, who had faced down Jack Harkness in full snit (never mind Janet), it wasn't all that impressive. "I take it that's a no."

Owen shrugged, quickly regaining his equilibrium. He should have been expecting this, but he'd really thought that he'd have another meeting or two before the truly awkward questions started surfacing. Meetings which, if he had his say, would probably happen around the time the sun exploded. "They're just not in the picture. Life is what it is, yeah?"

"Have you talked to Gwen about that?"

"Oh, yeah, course. That kind of thing? No problem." He paused, taking a contemplative sip of his drink. "Now, hardwood versus tile in the kitchen? That's a bit trickier." He smirked at the long-standing joke, which wasn't all that funny in retrospect. Tosh and Gwen had gotten downright militant about kitchen décor for a while there.

Mr. Cooper wasn't amused. "I'm trying to be serious here, Owen."

Owen straightened to his full height, done with playing nice as the irritation buzzing at the edges of his consciousness grew worse. "That's Doctor Harper to you, and so am I. Gwen may be a right bleeding heart some days, but she's not bloody stupid. She's a big girl, big enough to make her own decisions. Gwen and I work a dangerous job, Mr. Cooper. Kids aren't in the plans; that's something we both accept. We've made our peace with it, and you'd do well to do the same." He glanced around the room, trying to pick Gwen out of the crowd. "Gwen and me, what we have, it works for us. Now, you may not be able to understand it, and I don't expect you to, but you're her father. You should damn well be willing to respect it."

"You seem rather comfortable speaking for my daughter, _Doctor_ Harper."

Owen shrugged, and tossed back the last of his drink. "What can I say; I'm just special that way." Owen's gaze settled on a table on the far side of the dance floor where Gwen and her mother were speaking quietly. There she was. "And if you'll excuse me, I need to go keep Gwen from killing her mother."

--...--...--

"I hardly think this is the place for this, Mam."

"Well, it's going to be. You didn't come home for Christmas. Or your birthday. Or your father's birthday. Or Easter. You've broken it off with Rhys, which I still say is a bad idea, moved in with a strange man, a _Londoner_, who you refuse to tell me about, and you're never home. Andy doesn't know what's happened to you, none of your old friends see you anymore, what am I supposed to think?"

"You can think that I got a new job and some things changed. You can think that maybe I don't ring the girls from uni anymore. You can think that I decided to stop dating for a while after things with Rhys fell apart. You could even think that I decided to move in with a bloke from work because it was easier than finding a new flat of my own and he had the space. Pick one."

"I'm not blind, Gwen. Owen's more than just your flatmate. And if you think a british bloke like that's going do you better than Rhys, you're sadly mistaken. I've got a good bit more experience than you, Gwen, and if you had any sense at all, you'd listen to what I'm saying."

"And what exactly are you saying? That I'm better off with a man who cheats on me in my own flat than I am with someone who doesn't think I hung the moon? Who doesn't think kids and an aspidistra are the be all and end all? That at twenty-eight I'm not capable of making my own decisions?"

"I'm not saying that, Gwen. I just-"

Owen's arrival cut Anwen off before she could finish the thought. "Gwen! There you are. Jack made rather a number of threats to my person if I did not take you for at least one turn around the dance floor, so shall we?"

"Right, of course." Gwen was already standing up and turning toward the dance floor, grateful for the rescue and unable to bring herself to feel guilty for leaving the conversation with her mother unfinished. She'd said what she had to say, her mother could take it or leave it. "Can't have your lazy arse mucking the cells for the next month, now can we?"

--...--...--

"Gwen, are you in here?"

Gwen sighed as her sister's voice echoed in the ladies' room, and stepped out of her corner. _Busted_. "What do you need, Sioned?"

"I'm tossing the bouquet, and I didn't want you to miss it." Sioned looked so earnest that Gwen didn't have the heart to tell her that the bouquet toss was the whole reason she was hiding in the first place. It had always been one of the worst parts of the wedding when Gwen's friends had gotten married. She didn't like being singled out as, well, _single_. Now that she was married, whether her family knew about it or not (and given her mother's reaction to the implication that Gwen was dating Owen, it was going to be a while before they found out she'd married him), she saw no need to put herself through the humiliation.

Except it was Sioned's wedding, the one she'd been planning since they'd been children. And whether or not she got along with her sister the rest of the time – and strategic avoidance was highly underrated as an artform – Gwen couldn't bring herself to put a damper on Sioned's enthusiasm with any of the excuses she had planned on using if discovered. "Of course not, I hadn't realized it had gotten so late."

As the women to either side of her jockeyed for position in a manner a little too much like a pack of weevils for Gwen's piece of mind, she began to edge her way toward the left side of the crowd, getting as far from the proverbial line of fire as possible. Just because she'd agreed to stand there, it didn't mean she had to try to catch the damn thing. She glanced around, looking for Owen to make sure that he wasn't recording this particular moment for posterity's sake. He was standing by the bar, smirking at her from a distance as he ordered what she desperately hoped was a double whiskey with her name on it. An increase in volume from the crowd around her caused her to turn back toward her sister, only to be hit in the face by something white and mostly-floral.

She caught it instinctively as it fell, and for a long moment all she could think was 'Thank God it's not roses.' Then reality kicked in, and she looked up to find a sheepish expression on Sioned's face, only partially obscured by the hand covering her mouth in surprise. She could hear Owen in the background, having what sounded like a bad coughing fit. God, she was never going to live this down.

Gwen smiled as sweetly as she could and glanced over at Owen to confirm that yes, he really was laughing himself sick back there. She turned her attention back to her sister. "Well, I can honestly say: I never saw this coming." There was polite laughter, and she nodded in acknowledgement. "Now, I seem to remember something about a garter...?"

She could feel the abrupt shift Owen's attitude, and smirked as she made her way back to their table. Just as she sat down, however, her phone rang. She cursed quietly as she dug through her purse until she found it, annoyed that she hadn't remembered to silence the damn thing.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry to have to pull you in, but we've got a situation."

"Right. Twenty minutes."

"We'll be waiting."

She ended the call and shoved the phone back into her purse. Owen was at her side before she'd managed to get it closed. "Jack?"

"Jack."

"You say good-bye, I'll grab the car."

"Right."

As she made their apologies to her relatives, exchanging hugs and well-wishes, Gwen's mind had already left behind the world she had visited that afternoon, and returned to the real world. _Her_ world. Torchwood. When Owen pulled up, she slid comfortably into the passenger seat without a backward glance.

"What do we have?"

Finis


	2. 1B Family Obligations, Holidays

- - - - -  
**I. Family Obligations:  
**_**B. Holidays**_  
- - - - -

_Christmas, 2007_

The good thing about working for Torchwood was that it was never dull. Cliché as it sounds, on any given day one could expect the unexpected, and most days one wouldn't be disappointed.

The bad thing about working for Torchwood was that there was a certain flexibility expected when one put in for vacation time. If leave got approved, it was more of an "of course you can go home and visit the family, barring any unforeseen bog monsters/weevil parties/sight-seeing aliens who want souvenirs/government agencies run a muck" than an unconditional reprieve from the bizarre things they worked with most days. In fact, that particular clause was written into the leave request forms (in not quite so many words), courtesy of a slow day in the tourism office a few years back.

Thus, when the weevils started sneezing at four in the morning on Christmas Eve, Gwen knew what it meant, and was somewhat relieved by the reprieve. By the time she and Owen made it to his mother's house, it was almost midnight and they were both ready to drop. The Weevil Flu had turned out to be nothing serious, but it meant that they were still around when the equivalent of an intergalactic tour bus stopped in as part of a whirlwind survey of Christmas decorations across Europe. One thing led to another, and it was dark long before Gwen and Owen made it out of Cardiff.

Once they arrived, things didn't exactly get off to the best start.

"Hi, you must be Gwen. I'm James, and this is my wife, Janet."

Gwen closed her eyes and took a deep breath, cursing Owen under her breath before opening them again. "Your name is Janet?"

"Yes." Janet gave a depreciating smile. "After the ballad of Tam Lin? Mum was a bit of a faery nut." There was an awkward pause, and Gwen could hear Owen talking to his brother in the background, So, uh, welcome to the family?" She opened her arms in obvious invitation.

"Thanks." Gwen tentatively accepted, stepping into the hug and returning it. As she pulled back, she looked her sister-in-law over again. "Your name is _Janet_."

"Yes." Janet frowned. "Is there a problem?"

"No. No, not a problem. If you could excuse me just a moment..." Gwen stepped away and looked around for the source of her confusion. When she couldn't immediately find him, she resorted to the tried and true method. "Owen!"

"In the kitchen!"

When she found the kitchen, and her errant companion, she gave him a solid smack to the back of the head before moving on to introductions.

"Ow. What was that for?" Owen rubbed the back of his head, but didn't bother getting up from his seat at the breakfast bar.

"Your sister-in-law is named Janet. What the Hell do you think that was for?"

"It's not my fault you slept the whole drive away, now is it. Missed my whole explanation of who's who, you did."

"If I might interrupt, I'm Owen's mother. Am I correct is my guess that you're the Gwen I've been hearing such lovely things about?"

Gwen blushed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, well, I did mean to, but I didn't mean you to see it. It's been a long day." She took a deep breath, and found herself greatly reassured by the arm Owen settled around her waist. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Harper."

Owen's mother waved a hand in dismissal of the offence. "Don't worry yourself about it, child. Owen's had far worse owed to him over the years, he needs keeping in line. And call me Betty, everyone else does. Would you like a cuppa?"

Gwen smiled, and slid into the chair beside Owen. "Betty, I would _love_ a cuppa."

--...--...--

Gwen awoke the next morning to the sound of a thud and a rather colourful stream of curses. She rolled over and squinted at the source of the noise. "Owen?"

"What?"

"What are you doing on the floor?"

"Three guesses." He gingerly got to his feet and crawled over her back into bed on the side against the wall.

She slumped back against the pillows with a groan. "We both fit perfectly well last night, don't blame this on me."

"_I_ fit perfectly well last night. _You_ were downstairs talking to Mum until all hours. Budge up."

"I was not-" The sound of a doorbell interrupted her response, and she looked back at Owen. "Who's that?"

"That, would be my lovely sister Annie."

"Annie?"

"Older sister. Much older." He shifted, pinning her as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. "Probably want to make a good impression, but mmm, not with that hair." He pulled away, standing and heading to the door. "Save me some coffee, love! Can't promise on the hot water!"

"You _bastard_!!" She grabbed the first thing she could and threw it at him, hitting the door as it closed behind him.

--...--...--

By the time Gwen made it downstairs, she could smell the preparations for Christmas dinner well under way. She found Owen (who clearly valued his own skin, because he handed her a cup of coffee without a word) in the lounge with James and a boy who was introduced as James' son Robert. She lasted all of ten minutes before getting fed up with the football debate and heading into the kitchen to see if she could lend a hand.

"Has anyone seen the cream?"

Janet popped her head up from where she was peeling potatoes. "I brought some last night, isn't it in there?"

"No, it's- Oh, no." Annie's voice cut through Gwen and Betty's conversation, and they both looked up.

"What's wrong?"

Annie held up the carton of cream. "It sat out all night, right over the heat."

Betty dusted her hands off on her apron. "Well, there's always the shop round the corner. Charge an arm and a leg, but they're open. Probably the only thing."

Gwen stood. "I'll go."

"I'll send Robbie out, don't worry yourself." Janet set the peeler down, and turned on the water to wash her hands.

"No, I might as well make myself useful, yeah? I'll get Owen to show me where it is."

Annie set down the carton and stood as well, tossing a smile Gwen's direction which seemed just a touch too cheerful. "Don't bother, I'll take you. Give me a chance to get some fresh air, get to know you a bit while I'm at it."

Gwen nodded with a cautious smile and gestured for Annie to lead the way. After all, she'd faced worse things than in-laws. "Right."

--...--...--

They were halfway down the block before Annie cleared her throat in a way Gwen was all too familiar with. "Gwen, I, um, I'm not sure quite how to say this. How well do you know my brother?"

Gwen took a moment to think before she responded. "Well enough, I suppose."

"And how well is well enough? I thought I knew my first husband well enough, and that landed me in a hole I almost couldn't climb out of. You seem like a nice girl, Gwen. I'm not saying you're not, haven't known you long enough to tell. But I think you need to know what you're getting into with Owen."

"What I'm 'getting into'?" Gwen parroted back, incredulous.

"There was a girl once, he met her just after he'd graduated medical school when he was working as a houseman. Jenny, her name was. James said that Owen was talking serious. Brought her around to meet the family, was even talking about marriage. But then Owen got some hotshot new job, and within two months it's as if she never existed. No explanation, just things weren't 'working out.' He changed, after that. He stopped coming home for holidays, stopped phoning. And now suddenly he's come home for Christmas and he just happens to have brought a wife. Never let us know he was thinking about it, never invited us to the ceremony, we didn't even know your name until he talked to Mum. That's not like Owen, not the Owen I know. And I've known him a lot longer than you have, so forgive me if I'm a bit concerned. Because I don't think you and Owen are going to last; I don't think Owen's _capable_ of keeping a relationship together. I don't want him trapped in something he can't get out of, just because you had a few dates and your biological clock is ticking. I don't want my baby brother hurt when it falls apart."

Anne was still talking as they reached the shop, and Gwen had had enough. She stopped in front of the door and turned on her sister-in-law. "For God's sake, I was sleeping with him long before I ever considered marrying 'im. I bloody well know he's no saint, but I'm not either. He's honest with me, he trusts me, and he won't cheat on me. That counts for a lot. You don't approve, you think he can't hold a relationship, you talk to Owen. Otherwise, leave it be." She pushed the door open with rather more force than necessary and stalked into the shop, leaving a stunned Anne scrambling to catch up.

Before Anne could say anything, however, the sound of a mobile ringing had Gwen checking her pockets and cursing under her breath as she exited the shop. Finally, she found the phone in the back pocket of her trousers and switched it on, not bothering to look at the display. "It's nothing, I promise. Already sorted. Was just talking to your sister. She's worried about you."

"What were you talking about?"

"Nothing important."

"Gwen, we don't– "

"Yes, Owen, we do. Jack's always on about living a normal life, and we probably won't be able to get travel authorization again any time soon. Not with the way things have been acting up." It was a slight exaggeration, but they both knew that travel authorization and actually being able to take three days to see family on another part of the island were two very different things. A lot could happen in the three hours it took to drive from London to Cardiff. "It's not the end of the world; I've dealt with worse."

"So've I, doesn't mean I liked it. Anne's a right stroppy cow when she wants to be, and don't think I don't know it. You wouldn't get all bothered over just anything. She's my sister, not your problem."

"Look, we can talk when I get back, yeah?"

It was a long moment before he spoke again. "Yeah, all right."

Anne came out with the cream a moment later, and they walked back in a civil, if frosty, silence. When they got back, Owen caught Gwen as she walked in the door and brought her up to their temporary room. "Look, I'm sorry, all right? Mum said Annie's been at the eggnog already, and she's a right mean drunk. If I'd known, I wouldn't have let you go out with her."

Gwen nodded, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "She meant well, at least I think she did." She paused, peering at the uncharacteristically clear skies visible through the window. "Who's Jenny?"

"I might have known she'd bring that up." Owen sighed, and pulled out the desk chair to sit across from her. "Jenny was a girl I met when I moved to Cardiff to do my last year as a houseman. We met in the A&E, and things went from there. Jenny was a nice girl, steady. Even with the hours and everything, we made it work. Moved in together, met the family, perfect bloody storybook. And then came Torchwood. Overheard some things I shouldn't have, and got a job offer for my troubles. Jack needed someone in medical, and I was getting nowhere on my applications to the surgery programme. Win-win, right?" He laughed, but there was no humour in it, and Gwen could taste the old pain in the back of her mouth, sharp and bitter, like the dandelion leaves her gran had liked to toss in salads when Gwen had been a child.

"We made it two months before she called it quits, gave me an ultimatum. Said she didn't want to be 'that woman.' That I had to pick - work or her. Torchwood won, because Torchwood always wins."

Gwen knew that nothing she could say would make the memory less painful. Being a part of Torchwood had a price, and all of them knew it. So she fell back on the answer which seemed to work so well for her and Owen, she scooted forward off the bed, ignoring the sting as her knees hit the carpet too hard and too fast, and kissed him.

--...--...--

After the morning's events, Christmas dinner was almost anticlimactic. None of the crackers exploded heinously causing severe burns, Owen sat between Gwen and Annie, and there was an unspoken agreement to keep the conversation centred around innocuous topics like Robbie's plans for after university and the unusually warm weather (Tosh said Global Warming, Jack said that Global Warming was a result of a traffic accident somewhere in the vicinity of Venus, and that when the spilled fuel burnt off things would shift back toward the cool end of the spectrum, although he never actually addressed the hole in the ozone layer. Gwen kept her opinions to herself).

Annie's husband arrived just as dinner was ending, and after a round of introductions and apologies, the two left for another engagement. As people began to adjourn to the lounge, Betty caught Gwen's arm. "Would you mind helping me to clear the table and put the dishes in to soak?"

"Of course not."

"You're a dear." Betty nodded toward the lounge before heading into the kitchen with the first armload of dishes.

Gwen looked up to see Owen standing in the doorway. "Coming, love?"

"I'm just going to help your mum with the washing up."

"Are you sure, Gwen? I can do that if you want to go 'chat' with Janet or whatever."

"It's fine, Owen."

He closed his eyes briefly, confirming her words for himself before he nodded. "Right, then. Don't have to tell me twice." He vanished around the corner toward the lounge without a backward glance.

Betty cleared her throat, and Gwen spun, wondering how long the older woman had been standing there, and feeling unaccountably guilty. Betty just picked up another stack of plates and headed again to the kitchen. Gwen quickly did the same. After depositing the used china on a section of free counter space, Gwen turned to find Betty leaning against the kitchen table, effectively blocking the door to the dining room. "Sit down, Gwen."

"I'm not sure-"

"I don't bite, child. The dishes can wait. The tea will be ready in a minute."

Gwen opened her mouth to protest again, but thought better of it and instead slid into the seat opposite Betty. They sat in silence for a long moment, waiting for the water to boil. The electric kettle reached a boil and clicked off just as Owen's head popped into the kitchen. "Gwen, everything all right?"

"I'm fine, Owen."

"Oh good. Is there any more of the pudding?"

Betty let out an exasperated sigh at the inquiry, and pointed to a dish on the far side of the sink. "It's over there. Take it and shoo! Gwen and I are just taking a little break."

He nodded, and appropriated said dessert, although he took his time about it. "I'll just be-"

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Oh, get out already. I know how to scream if the occasion warrants."

He came up behind her and set the pudding bowl down before placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing her forehead. "I know, but you're tense enough you're giving _me_ a headache. If everything's all right, then try to relax, eh?"

"Sorry, I didn't realize..." She winced, and turned her head to give him a brief kiss on the lips. "Forgive me?"

"Later." He pulled away. "I'll leave you two at it, then." He nodded to his mother, grabbed his dessert, and left Gwen alone with his mother.

Betty placed a mug in front of Gwen, adding two sugars to her own before returning to studying her new daughter-in-law. "I like you, Gwen. But I have some concerns about your relationship with my son, some questions I'd like answers to."

Gwen took a sip of tea, and wished she'd had the presence of mind to add sugar. "I'll answer what I can, ma'am, but it's not all mine to tell. Some things, you're going to have to ask Owen. And some things, even he can't tell you."

"My son told me that you work together, that you're special ops. What does that mean, exactly? Owen's a physician, I know what he does. But what about you? Regular hours? Regular vacation?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am. Owen and I work in the same unit, and it's a 24-hour rota aside from the regular hours. Nothing to be done for it except finding another job, and that's just not an option either of us is willing to consider."

"That's all well and good now, but what about when you decide to have children? You're young now, but accidents happen whether you want them to or not. Maybe not now, maybe in five or ten years. What happens then?"

"There won't be any accidents, Mrs. Harper. Owen and I, we're agreed on this. We can't leave special ops, and we won't bring a child into this world we can't care for properly."

"I notice you haven't told me what it is you do."

"No, and I'm not going to. I'm sorry, Betty, but that's one of those things I can't talk about."

"That's what Owen tells me, too, when we talk at all. I suppose I should thank you for giving me a reason to make him come home, but I can't help but worry about him. He's the baby of the family, you know. Fifteen years younger than James, thirteen younger than Anne. I was out of practice by the time it mattered with him, never knew when to allow and when to forbid. I suppose I should be happy that he's turned out this well, but it makes a mother cautious. The marriage, everything, it all seems so sudden. And pardon me for saying, but you don't act like newly weds."

Gwen stared down at her mug, contemplating her answer. "The lives Owen and I live, the job we work, it's not what you'd call normal. It isolates you; I've seen it happen with my own life. What Owen and I have, it's not a storybook romance, won't ever be. The best way I can put it is that we're making the best of unexpected circumstances. It's not happily ever after, but we _are_ happy."

"I, hm." Betty looked at her thoughtfully, unconsciously tracing the rim of her mug. "I suppose that's all I can ask for."

Gwen swallowed the last of her now-lukewarm tea. "Don't know about that, ma'am. But it's all I can give you."

Betty's fingers stilled on her mug, and for a long moment Gwen was worried that she'd said the wrong thing. It was silly, but she wanted Owen's family to like her. Wanted him to have that connection back, regardless of when he'd lost it. When Betty stood, Gwen did as well, wary of the sudden motion, reacting on training from her time in the police - training she'd almost forgotten in the morass of Torchwood codes and manoeuvres and special directives. Her mind raced through a dozen different situations and possibilities, none of them including the actions Betty proceeded to take. The older woman reached out and pulled Gwen into a hug, tighter and less formal than the one Janet had initiated the night before. Dimly, Gwen could hear footsteps and Owen's voice, but all that registered were Betty's whispered words.

"Welcome to the family, love."

Finis


	3. 2 Interior Decorating

- - - - -  
**II. Interior Decorating**  
- - - - -

_Mid-November, 2007_

Three months.

Three months, four days, and two cups of coffee.

That's how long Gwen and Owen's attempt at "domestic", planned or improvised, lasted. The architect of its demise was, of all things, a kitchen floor. Gwen was leaning toward hardwood, Tosh was arguing in favour of tile, and Owen was hiding in autopsy counting his scalpels and cursing Jack and Ianto for their periodic encouragement of the debate.

Theoretically, it was all well and good that the management of his building was refinishing the flats before selling them as condos. It had seemed like a great idea, even, up until Gwen had started dragging Tosh out to lunch with a purse full of things that looked suspiciously like carpet and paint samples. The lunches had been followed by whispering and giggling, and there was a brief but memorable chat in which Owen had explained his perspective on the whole ordeal. Gwen wanted to decorate, she could decorate; when they moved, he'd help with the manual labour. After all, they were only moving two floors.

Then, a week before they were due to sign the papers on the mortgage, Gwen came swanning into autopsy talking about hardwood flooring and did he want blue or green paint, and he just lost it.

"I. Don't. _Care_."

Gwen took a step back, cheerful smile slipping from her features abruptly. "There's no need to be cross, I just thought since we have to submit the final selections when we sign the papers, you might like to look it over."

"And _I_ told _you_, I don't bloody care. You're not colour blind, and neither is Tosh. But you know, maybe this whole thing isn't such a good idea."

"What do you mean? I thought we agreed it made more sense to buy-in rather than finding a new flat."

"Did we? Funny, because I don't remember the specifics of that conversation. I remember you bringing it up, and then I remember rather a lot of fucking. No actual discussion. But then that's how it works with us, innit? If it works, and I'm not so sure that it actually does."

"Owen, you don't mean that."

"Do you know? I really think I do. God, Gwen, what the Hell are we playing at? A piece of paper and a ring doesn't make a relationship. It was a mistake to even try this; I don't _do_ relationships."

"It wasn't supposed to _be_ a relationship, Owen. Just sex, remember? That's all it was the first time. And the second time. And the third time. It was just supposed to be better than a one night stand." He could feel her anger gnawing away at the inside of his skull, but couldn't bring himself to care aside from the fact that it fucking _hurt_.

"Yeah, well with a one night stand? At least no strings attached really means no strings. Not picking out fucking _curtains_."

"Maybe we should call it all off. Is that it? Just another casualty of Torchwood?"

"Torchwood _caused_ this one, love." He bit off the endearment, savouring the spike it caused in the monster currently trying to claw its way out of his frontal lobe. "It only got this far on booze and wishful thinking."

The sound of a throat clearing brought their attention to Jack, leaning against the doorway. "Is there a problem, children?"

Owen glanced back at Gwen, shaking his head in disgust at the idea that they actually could have made something work. "No. Nothing at all." Owen shouldered past Jack, shrugging off the hand Jack placed on his chest. "Leave it, Harkness. Why don't you go shag the tea boy or something."

"Owen!"

"Jack, leave it." She crossed the autopsy bay and paused by Jack's side, voice gone quiet and empty. "Owen's right, it was nothing."

Jack opened his mouth to argue, but something in her eyes stopped him. "If you say so. Just came down to let you folks know it was quitting time."

She attempted a smile, but it was a ghost of its normal self. "Thanks, Jack." Without another word, she proceeded up the stairs, leaving Jack staring after her contemplatively.

--...--...--

_Gwen stopped by the Hub's car park just long enough to empty out most of the contents of her purse and to grab a jacket with a hood in case it started pissing down like it was currently threatening to. That done, she locked her car and took off on foot for the nearest pub. She needed something, anything, to dull the pain from the fight._

She stopped in at one Torchwood often frequented, but left after a pint. She didn't want to run into anyone she knew, anyone who might ask questions. She'd been an idiot to think Owen might be willing to make things work, to not have realized that she'd wanted a relationship even when she thought she didn't. She wandered on foot for a while before finding somewhere she didn't recognize that looked appropriately dark and anonymous. She claimed a stool at the far end of the bar, and started drinking with a purpose.

Owen, meanwhile, headed in the opposite direction. After a few detours, he ended up at one of his old haunts, from the days before Torchwood when all he'd had to worry about was getting through his next shift at the hospital. The bar was much as he remembered it, the patrons university folk out to get the most entertainment for their limited funds. After some jockeying, he got a seat at the bar, and told the bartender to keep the whiskey coming.

_Gwen was finishing her third Hi-Fi when someone slid into the seat next to her and set another in front of her._

"So, is this a private pity party, or can anyone join?"

She giggled, setting her empty glass on the counter as she turned to get a better look at him. "If I say private, what'll you do?"

He grinned winningly. "Buy you another drink?"

She looked him over again, the headache from earlier finally having subsided enough that she could ignore it. The bloke was rather fit, and as she toyed with her new drink an idea came to her. She didn't need Owen, she could do just as well with someone else. She took a long sip of her drink before setting it back on the bar resolutely. "Do you want to get out of here?"

"Forward. I like that in a woman." His gaze blatantly slid over her curves, and she let him stare. This might be exactly _what she needed. As he finished his perusal, he gave her a good-natured leer. "As it happens, I live just up the block. Name's Steve, by the way."_

"Gwen. And that sounds perfect." She hopped off her stool, wobbling for a moment before he placed a steadying arm around her waist. She ignored the slight feeling of wrong _that came with the contact, telling herself that once they got down to business it would go away._

Owen was on his fourth whiskey, the world nicely beginning to blur at the edges, when one of the giggling coeds whom he'd been eyeing sauntered his direction, all low-cut blouse and too-tight jeans.

"Hey, stranger."

"Hey yourself." Owen raised an eyebrow as she eased onto the stool next to him. "Buy you a drink?"

The next time the bartender stopped over, Owen added a Fuzzy Navel to his own whiskey refill, ignoring the fact that he was going to have one Hell of a hangover in the morning. For right now, Gwen's anger had faded into the background, and the only pounding in his head came from the dance floor.

When his new friend, he was pretty sure she'd said her name was Cyndi, cocked her head toward the back door of the pub, he followed all too willingly.

_As the door closed behind her, Gwen let Steve press her up against the wall. For a moment, she was confused, because he was shorter than Owen, but she shook off the comparison and concentrated on his tongue as it made its way down the side of her neck. She shifted and ground against his erection, smirking at the gasp it caused. He pulled away just long enough to remove her blouse, tossing it away as he continued kissing his way down her body._

Owen groaned as Cyndi palmed his cock through his jeans, letting his head fall back against the alley wall as she undid his belt and dropped to her knees.

_After Gwen's bra came off, she started feeling dizzy. It wasn't the dizziness that came from getting pissed, this was something else, like the time she'd gotten an inner-ear infection. She closed her eyes, trying to suppress the sensation, pushing Steve away because his kisses were making things worse instead of grounding her._

The moment Cyndi's mouth touched his skin, it was like a cold shower, complete with involuntary muscle spasms. He flinched away, eyes flying open at the disorienting sensation. Through the alcohol fogging his brain, there was an overriding sense of _wrongness_ building. He closed his eyes again, and banged his head back against the stones in frustration. "You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me."

_"You all right?"_

Gwen waved off Steve's concern. "Fine. Just give me a tic. Had a bit too much to drink, that's all."

"If you're sure." He reached out a hand to steady her as she stepped away from the wall, and the sensation made her stomach heave. She had barely enough time to turn away from him before she brought up the remnants of her last two drinks, as well as something that might have started life as her lunch. When her stomach was well and truly convinced there was nothing left to expel, she slumped back against the wall with a quiet moan.

Owen's fists clenched as a phantom wave of nausea swept over him. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

--...--...--

The problem with winter in Wales is that it's dark _all the time_.

When the sun's not down, it's raining, and when it's not raining, it's threatening to rain.

All that Gwen remembered of her trip home after the disaster in Steve's lounge was the rain. It was falling steadily when she staggered out of his flat and onto the street looking for a cab. It grew more insistent during the ride back to her building, a soothing sound which eased the turmoil within her mind. By the time she sorted out the right key for the outer door she was dripping wet, the cold finally penetrating the fog around her thoughts. It took six tries before she could make her key work on the door to the flat, and the moment the door closed behind her she was shedding clothes, trying desperately to get away from the cold and the smell of sickness which still lingered within them.

Gwen didn't bother with the lights, concentrating on making it to the bed as exhaustion finally set in with a vengeance. The nice, warm bed. Warm, soft, _clean_ bed. She'd deal with everything in the morning. Whatever everything was. Now that she was snuggled under the comforter, familiar smells and sensations easing the knot in her stomach, it didn't seem like anything could possibly be wrong. Something was missing, but she couldn't figure out what it was, and if she couldn't remember what it was, it couldn't be very important, could it?

Somewhere in the time after Gwen fell into restless dreams, the cold returned. She didn't wake, but began to shiver as she slept, curling tighter and tighter beneath the blankets.

--...--...--

When Owen staggered into the flat, pissed out of his mind and aware only of the fact that he desperately needed to find the strangely elusive washroom, he too was shivering. After taking care of his immediate concern, he had just enough presence of mind to think that walking three kilometres home through the rain might not have been the wisest course of action before managing to get his clothing off and falling into unconsciousness before his head hit the pillow.

--...--...--

Owen woke to a pounding headache and an unholy beeping sound. It took a long moment to place the sound as a mobile, and it wasn't until the warmth sprawled across his chest muttered a curse and shifted that he realized that it was a body. A familiar one, at that. He kept his eyes closed as the revelation settled, unwelcome and with all kinds of associations that he just didn't want to deal with. He contemplated trying to make sense of her conversation with whomever it was, but dismissed the idea as more effort than it was worth. Doubly so with the current throbbing in his head. When he felt Gwen roll away and leave the bed, he dared to hope that he'd actually managed a reprieve.

The gel-pak that landed on his chest shattered that illusion rather succinctly, and he shot upright without a conscious choice, eyes snapping open. "What the fuck??"

Gwen was standing at the foot of the bed wrapped in a towel and looking entirely unsympathetic. "I don't care how many gits you decided to start a tiff with last night, Owen. If I have to go in, you can damn well get your arse out of bed as well."

Owen grumbled and picked up the gel-pak, slumping back against the pillows as he held it to the throbbing which had localized itself around his left cheek and eye. It had been a long time since he'd gotten so pissed he didn't remember a fight, but the last thing he could remember before getting home was Cyndi, eyes narrowed and anger clear as she'd accused him of being gay.

He waited until he heard the shower before forcing himself out of bed, wincing as other bruises made themselves known. Now that his brain was functioning as well as could be expected without caffeine, he could make out Gwen's anxiety, separate and distinct from his own. It brought back the phantom nausea, something he'd managed to suppress the night before, and the medical part of his mind refused to leave it alone.

Owen opened the door to the washroom cautiously, spacial perception still suffering the after-effects of a night on the lash. "Gwen?"

"What?"

He opened the medicine cabinet, randomly grabbing bottles until he found the one he wanted. "What happened last night?"

"Nothing."

He opened the bottle, shaking three tablets into his hand before closing it again. "Gwen, don't lie to me. I may not like you very much, but I deserve better than that." He tossed back the pills, trying not to wince as the movement pulled at the swollen skin of his cheek.

"Do you? What were _you_ doing last night?"

He sighed, leaning against the counter and adjusting the gel-pak to a more comfortable position. "Getting pissed. Trying to get you out of my bloody mind."

The sounds of washing stopped, and the static pounding of hot water was all the louder for its blandness. "Did it work?"

"Course not. That's why you got so pissed you gave yourself alcohol poisoning, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Last night. You were bringin' up breakfast, lunch, and tea. Don't bother to deny it, I got the second-hand version."

She muttered something, but he couldn't make it out over the sounds of the shower. "What?"

He could here her moving about, and a moment later the water turned off. "I said, I wasn't pissed."

"Then what?"

"It's stupid." The door to the shower opened, and she reached out, grabbing her towel. "And it's not your concern any more, now is it? I'll be out as soon as I can find a new flat." She emerged from behind the door, securing her towel. "Should have been out a long time ago."

He avoided her eyes, studying the edge of the mirror as he effectively blocked her way from the room. "Maybe not."

"Owen..."

"Look, I really, really hate to say this. But I think we're stuck with each other."

"Owen, this is no time for having a laugh. Or a serious conversation. You _still_ smell like whiskey, and my head wants to explode. We can do this tomorrow. Or next week. The signing's off, everything else can wait."

"No, it can't. You're not hearing me, _P. C. _Cooper. We're _stuck_ with each other. I went out last night to get you out of my system. You know what I got? A slap in the face. Judging by those lovely bite marks, you did the same. Only you got off worse than I did. So you want to walk, you go ahead and walk. But personally, I'd like to still be having sex this time next year, and because of some fucking piece of alien technology, it's going to have to be with you."

He didn't wait for a response, turning and storming out of the washroom. He'd already passed his quota of embarrassment for the day, and he hadn't even gotten to work yet. There was just something about hangovers which made him too honest for his own good. Especially around Gwen. He could shower at the Hub, after he'd climbed through whatever sewer Jack had managed to scrounge up as punishment for getting into a blow-out with Gwen in the Hub.

Gwen said nothing when she emerged from the washroom, and the silence remained unbroken until the doors of the lift slid open to show the building's lobby. Gwen stepped out and paused, turning back and causing him to pause as well.

"I'll tell Jack we need the afternoon on Friday."

"Friday? Oh, right. The, um, paperwork."

"You have a better idea?"

Owen sighed, and stepped around her. "No. No I don't. But I'm bloody well going to ring Harkness' neck just the same. General principles and all."

Gwen shot him a wry grin and fell into step beside him as they headed toward the SUV which had just pulled up in front of the building.

"Get in line."

Finis


	4. 3A Problematic Exs, Diane Holmes

- - - - -  
**III. Problematic Exs  
**_**A. Diane Holmes**_  
- - - - -

_October, 2011_

At five o'clock on an October morning, Gwen could think of plenty of places she might want to be. All of them warmer, drier, and decidedly less windy than the grass next to a runway at Cardiff International Airport. She'd had a bad feeling when Jack had called at 4:30, and it had only marginally improved when she'd arrived to find that Richard was the only other team member who'd been dragged in. Just because she was first string didn't mean that she had to be cheerful about it, even if it was a milk-run. Ever since the _Sky Gypsy_ had come flying out of the past, she'd always been on edge at CWL.

She rubbed her hands together in an effort to warm them, thinking longingly of the bed she had been forced to abandon and the human furnace who had crawled in beside her at half-two that morning. Say what you would about Owen, it was worth putting up with the restless dreams just for the heat he put out when he reached deep sleep.

She was shaken out of her wishful thinking by an oddly familiar sound. It wasn't a jet plane, and it wasn't one of the alien engines she was familiar with - it was lower and more rhythmic. As the source came into view, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. It didn't just sound like the _Sky Gypsy_, it _was_ the _Sky Gypsy_.

As the plane taxied to the off-ramp, Gwen swallowed hard and reminded herself that it didn't mean anything. Even if it was Diane, she'd never stick around. How bad could it be?

--...--...--

Three hours later, Tosh arrived at work to find Richard asleep at the information desk, and Gwen curled up on the couch in the Hub under a blanket scavenged from somewhere. After a cursory inspection, including a scan of the Hub's security systems, revealed nothing out of the ordinary, Tosh decided to turn to what was fast becoming the second best source of gossip in the Hub: Richard in Reception. She initiated the next automated search on her list, made two cups of strong tea, and took the lift up to the tourism office.

She set one of the mugs down next to Richard's head, shaking him gently.

"What?" He blinked, sitting up with a start and nearly falling off his chair.

She smiled kindly. "I gather it's been a long morning, thought you might like a cup of tea."

He blinked again, but managed to find the mug of tea and take a long draught. When he set the mug down, he looked much more alert. "Long morning. I guess you could say that."

"Anything interesting?"

He considered the question for a moment, taking another sip of his tea. "Let me ask you something. Do you ever get used to the time travellers?"

"Time travellers?" She took a sip of her own tea, wishing not for the first time that Ianto wasn't quite so possessive of his coffee maker. Time travel brought up memories she'd rather not go digging about in. "I suppose as much as you get used to anything at Torchwood. It comes from working on the Rift." She frowned in concern. "Why? What happened?"

"Well, nothing, really. Compared to the last time Jack dragged me out into the field in the middle of the night, this was down right normal." He took another sip of tea, finishing off the last of it and setting the empty mug down on the desk. "I suppose that's what's so strange about it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. No aliens, no explosions, nothing. Just one of them old aeroplanes, like you see in the films. Lands, pulls up and out hops the pilot. She knew Jack, which I guess is no surprise when you think about it."

"No, I guess not." Tosh hid a grin behind her mug as she took another sip of tea. She paused as another option occurred to her, anxiety replacing levity. Especially in light of Gwen's location curled up on the couch in the Hub, because that just screamed domestic disturbance. "Wait, the plane. Did you happen to catch the name?"

Richard frowned, peering off into the middle distance in that odd way he had when recalling details. "_Sea_, no, wait, _Sky Gypsy_, that was it."

Tosh paled as her worries were confirmed, various details clicking into place. "The pilot, is she still here?"

Richard eyed her curiously. "No, flew out half an hour after she landed. Said something about the weather being right." He shook his head absently, stretching until his back cracked and pretending not to notice how relieved she looked. "Jack said it was all right. Did you know her?"

Tosh shook her head in the negative, letting out the breath she hadn't known she was holding. So Diane had come and gone again. God, she hoped that was the end of it. After a contemplative silence, she straightened up and grabbed Richard's empty mug. "Well, best get back to it." She reached over, using her free hand to press the button which opened the door to the Hub. "Do you need anything?"

"Three hours of sleep and a caffeine IV?"

"I'll see what I can do. Ianto's on Armageddon Leave, though, so don't get your hopes up. Something about a bunch of _kelvar_ tourists popping in late last night."

"Duly noted. I-" He was cut off by the opening of the front door. Tosh didn't think much of it until she heard his next words. "Owen, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Kid. Just a cold."

Tosh paused at the hoarseness of his voice, and re-entered the front office. She frowned as she caught sight of the doctor. "Owen, he's right. You don't look well." She stepped forward, placing a hand to his cheek and then his forehead. "How long have you been feverish?"

He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped at her glare. "A few hours, maybe. I'll be fine once I get some DayQuil, promise. Nothing serious. I'll just sleep on the couch until we get a call."

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Owen."

Tosh glanced over at Richard in surprise, and wondered how much he'd seen when Diane had popped in earlier - how much he'd guessed. "He's right, Owen. There's nothing that needs to be done right now that can't wait, and I'm sure Jack will understand." Her frown deepened as he swayed unsteadily and she placed a hand on his arm to stabilize him. "Owen, I'm not joking. It was a _Kelvar_ ship last night, right? They can carry nasty bugs, you know that. You need to be home in bed, for at least the next forty-eight hours. You're no good to us like this."

Owen shook off her hand, making for the door to the Hub. "Jack called, said he needed to see me ASAP. Important, he said. You want to be the one to tell him I'm not coming down?"

"I will." Richard's declaration shocked both senior members, and the turned their attention back to the receptionist. "Jack didn't know you were ill, Owen. You go down now, you run the risk of getting her sick. It can wait a day or two."

Tosh blinked at the non-sequitor, because he couldn't possibly be talking about Gwen. "Her _who_?"

"The baby, of course." Richard leaned over and rummaged around in one of the drawers, pulling out a telephone directory.

Owen opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but seemed to think better of it. "You know, I'll just be home. In bed. I don't do screaming children, of any species. I'm sure Tosh can give it a once-over if that's what Jack needs." He turned and walked out, waving a vague goodbye.

"That was easier than I expected." Tosh paused, studying his retreating figure for a moment with a faint concern about his ability to drive. Then the conversation caught up with her. "Wait a minute, _baby_?"

Richard looked up from putting away the directory. "Didn't I mention? That's what the lady pilot did. Dropped off a kid. Pretty little thing. You know, I'd never realized Gwen was so good with children."

"And...That's why Jack needed Owen in. Oh, God."

"I would assume...Tosh? Tosh?" Richard sighed, looking around at the now-empty tourist office before hitting the button to close the Hub access. Not like it was the first time.

--...--...--

Between one thing and another, Gwen was kept busy enough that she only noted Owen's absence in passing for the three days he was down with a _Kelvar_ flu. He'd been scheduled off for the first day barring emergencies, and while the young one was a handful, Gwen hardly considered her an emergency. The second and third days had been full of anxiety and activity, sleeping on the couch in the Hub when she could. She hadn't been home the entire time, Tosh dropping by the flat in the evenings to make sure that Owen was riding out the worst of the virus attacking his system without any unanticipated symptoms.

Dropping onto the couch in her lounge for the first time in four days, Gwen tried to sort through the events that had led to her current situation. The more she concentrated, the more things tried to blur. If she hadn't known it was simple exhaustion, she'd have suspected Ianto of slipping something into her coffee.

--...--...--

The first morning felt as if it had happened to someone else. She hadn't known how to react when Diane had pulled the bundled infant from the plane, never mind when she'd handed said infant to Gwen with a "could you hold her for me?" and then dismissed the two completely.

Gwen had bitten her tongue at the brush off, and turned her attention to the child, who was staring up at her with lively dark eyes. As Gwen shifted to adjust her jacket and keep the rain from soaking the little one, she allowed herself some small satisfaction as Jack lit into the aviatrix. That satisfaction deepened as the disagreement escalated, and she smiled conspiratorially down at the baby. It might be petty, but Diane had always been one of those things she and Owen didn't discuss; despite four years of marriage, she still didn't know exactly what the two had shared, and it worried her more than she wanted to admit that the woman had now returned. It wasn't that she thought he'd leave her - the bond prevented that - it was more the slap in the face of knowing that someone else could make him happier.

When the baby began to fuss at the raised voices, Gwen caught Richard's attention and nodded toward the far side of the green before walking away from the small group. She would have liked to overhear the discussion, but she knew it could wait. Diane would be around for a while, if the events of five years earlier were any indication, and even if Jack said nothing, Richard could surely be convinced.

The sound of a propeller starting up had pulled Gwen's attention away from her small charge, and to her horror she looked up to see the _Sky Gypsy_ turning onto the main runway. Gwen tightened her grip on the child and crossed the green as quickly as she could in the rain. "Jack! Wait, she can't leave!"

She'd stopped cold at the look on Jack's face, a mixture between sympathy and something far darker. His voice was quiet, but with the edge of command that signalled arguing to be a bad idea. "She can, and she is, Gwen. The child has been granted sanctuary under Section 45 of Torchwood's Operational Guidelines."

"Section 45? But that would mean..."

"I'm sorry, Gwen. Diane said that she's Owen's."

"And you just _took her word for it?_"

Jack looked away, watching the plane as it rose into the sky. "Gwen, she'll have a better life here than she would hopping through time; trust me on that." He shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the wind. "I wouldn't wish that kind of existence on anyone, much less a child. Tosh can run the required DNA check when she gets in, and if it's a match I'll call Owen in, but it'll be the same end result either way." He turned back to Gwen, glancing down at the baby in her arms who was peering around with curious eyes. "In the meantime, I know it's awkward, but I'd appreciate it if you could continue to look after the little one until we've got things sorted out. She seems to like you, and it shouldn't be more than a day or two. I'd volunteer Ianto, but I think he'd kill me in my sleep, and that always makes a mess of the sheets."

"I, um." Gwen blinked, trying to take in what he'd asked. What he'd _said_. There was a degree of sense to his words, but she was having trouble finding it.

"Great." He turned, walking off the green toward the "Official Vehicles" car park. "Are you coming?"

As always, Gwen had followed, misgivings though she might have had. Jack was right in one respect, the child was not responsible for the faults of her, and she certainly wasn't responsible for the nature of her arrival. It was Richard, of all people, who had come up with a name for her: Erin, because she had arrived from the West.

Gwen spent most of the day reviewing files with the baby in a makeshift sling, and found herself growing surprisingly attached to the little girl. When Jack called her into his office at the end of the day, Gwen had known what he was going to tell her. The test had been positive, and her life had just become a lot more complicated.

"I'm going to have to discuss this with Owen, of course, but since Tosh says he's going to be out at least two days, I wanted to talk to you." Jack folded his hands on the table, giving her an appraising glance. "How are you handling all of this?"

Gwen wanted to laugh, but she had a feeling she'd end up in a cell if she followed through on the inclination. Instead, she adjusted Erin's sling, fussing with the fabric for a long moment before answering. "I'm doing all right, Jack. It's a shock, yeah, but it's not like it could be. Not like it would have been two years ago. I just, I don't know. I guess it could be worse, yeah?"

Jack nodded slowly. "As long as you keep the fallout out of the Hub, I'm going to take your word on that. It starts boiling over, I'm going to make it my business. Are we clear?"

"Of course."

"Right, now onto the red tape. Because he's not here to make the initial decisions and we're operating on a time line, they fall to you. As Owen's legal spouse, Torchwood policy says that your name goes on the birth certificate and in the modified hospital records." Jack opened one of the folders on his desk and turned it around so that it faced Gwen. "There are some forms I'm going to need you to fill out before we can get the adoption paperwork under way."

Gwen blinked, surprised even though she knew she shouldn't be. "A-adoption? Isn't this jumping the gun a bit, Jack?"

"Gwen, this is Torchwood. You and Owen are _both_ Torchwood. That means you're on-call seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. I will not condone putting a child into that kind of home. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to the child."

Gwen fidgeted with the sling, smoothing down a few locks of Erin's hair. "What if one of us left?"

"It's not that simple, Gwen. If either of you left, you'd have to leave _everything_. Not just Torchwood, but your home, your lover. You can't leave Torchwood and maintain a relationship with someone on the inside; retcon simply doesn't hold up to that level of constant stimulation."

"Everything?"

"Everything. There are reasons why field agents are discouraged from having children, Gwen. It was one thing at Torchwood One, where there were research and archiving positions. Hell, even Torchwood Two is better suited to kids than we are. Here, it's just not an option. And no, a transfer is not an option. Torchwood Two is a one to two man outpost."

Gwen cradled Erin through the sling, carefully keeping her voice at a reasonable level. "I _know_, Jack. Owen and I, we agreed. No kids. I know we can't keep her, I don't even know if Owen would want to. But I was a PC before I was Torchwood, and the system doesn't always work. Erin might not be mine, but you said so yourself - she deserves the best we can do for her. I don't want her falling through the cracks."

"Gwen, this _is_ the best we can do for her. It's also not an option; I can make it an order if I have to."

Gwen looked away, gritting her teeth. It was always _Jack's_ definition of 'the best.' She took a deep breath, assessing her options as she let it out. "Three days."

"Gwen-"

"Three days, Jack. If I can't find a better option, I'll sign the papers. Owen will be up and about by then, and Tosh said he should no longer be contagious. Just. Let me try, Jack. I can't not try."

--...--...--

"Morning, Sunshine."

Gwen stirred, batting ineffectually at the hand gently shaking her shoulder. "Not morning."

There was a gentle chuckle, and a welcome resurgence of the coherent emotions she associated with a waking, fully cognisant Owen. "Owen?"

There was a sneeze, and she opened one eye tentatively, finding Owen blowing his nose as he perched on the arm of the couch. "Jack called, said something about taking an extra day."

She sat up abruptly, and only just missed hitting her head on Owen's chin. "What time is it?"

"Half-eleven. Jack also said you hadn't been sleeping much. I get sick, and the whole bloody place falls apart, is that it?" His tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of anxiety behind it.

She slumped back against the couch, closing her eyes for a moment before forcing herself into a more vertical position for the duration. She took a deep breath, and tried to figure out how to explain things. She waved at the empty end of the couch. "Sit down."

He complied, watching her warily. She could still see signs of the virus, but nothing like what Tosh had described two days ago. The tech genius' estimate had been spot on; the fever was gone.

"How much do you remember of the last few days?"

"I was sick, not bloody dead. You're talking about the kid." It was a statement, not a question.

Gwen raised her hands in a pacifying gesture. "Your fever was high enough that Tosh was concerned. She said you might not remember things too well, and I needed to know where I stood."

Something in her voice caused him to pause his grumbling, a flavour to the expected anxiety which tinted their conversation. "Gwen..."

Gwen pushed herself off the couch, and paced to the kitchen and back before settling again, ringing her hands. "I called James."

"You _what?_"

She looked away, speaking so softly he had to strain to make out her words. "I didn't know what else to do, Owen. Jack says we have to sign her over. I know it's the best option, but I don't want to give her up. There's no telling what kind of life she'd have. I've seen things, Owen, when I was a PC. Most of the time it works, but what about when it doesn't? What if she doesn't place, or something happens? I can't put her in that position. I _won't_."

He reached over, and gently took her hands in his own, stilling them. "I'm not mad. Strike that, I'm bloody furious. But not with you. Because we shouldn't be having this _chat_. That was the whole point in me gettin' fixed. And now, not only is there a kid, but Jack decides it's _my_ problem? It was one night, five years ago. You shouldn't have to pay for that."

"But I do, Owen. And I, I don't mind. Honestly. She's yours, too, and that counts for something. I just." She took a deep breath, looking up and holding his gaze. "I want to do what's best for her."

"So you called James."

"You _weren't here_, Owen. You got sick, and that's not your fault, but Jack gave me three days to sort things or he'd decide for me. Tosh said two days, but she was guessing. James, he's been good to us, to _me_. And to be fair, I called Janet. She brought James into it. It was either them or your mother."

Owen winced and looked away. "Right."

"I won't say I'm sorry, Owen. Please don't ask me to."

"Fine. Damage is done at this point. And you're right, about the fostering system." He stared contemplatively at the box of tissues on the coffee table. "I worked in an A&E for a while, and it sticks with you." He shook his head, reaching for a tissue and blowing his nose before returning his attention to Gwen. "Well, are you going to tell me what they said? Or do I have to play twenty questions? Usually I can't get you to bloody shut up."

"Oi, no need for that." She reached out and slapped his arm before sobering. "It took some work, but they said they could take Erin five days a week, nights too, and emergencies. With Richard settling in, Jack's agreed to honour the Armageddon Leave rota. One day a week guaranteed off unless the world is ending. That means we'd only have her two days a week, and I think we could manage that. I think we should at least try."

Owen massaged the bridge of his nose, a headache forming that had nothing to do with the congestion in his sinuses. "What does Jack think?"

"He's not happy, but he said he'll give it a go. He likes her, even though he doesn't want to admit it. They all do."

He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch and staring up at the ceiling. "I'd probably be a shit father, Gwen. Not a lot of role models rattling about in the closet. Be a shame if I end up doing more harm than good, love."

"That's not going to happen, Owen. Never mind James, _I_ won't let that happen."

He took a moment to enjoy the sincerity of her statement before moving on. "She'd stay out of Torchwood."

Gwen nodded, understanding the wealth of meaning behind the simple statement. "Completely. She never hears anything; she never sees anything."

He straightened, turning to face her again. "I know I'm going to regret this, but do I get to meet her before I sign away the next twenty years of my life?"

Gwen beamed, leaning over and hugging him tightly. She slid into his lap, and kissed him the way she knew he loved, passionate and dirty. When she broke away to catch her breath, she ghosted kisses across his cheek before pausing at his ear. "Thank you, Owen."

"Oi! I didn't say yes!"

She pulled back and grinned. "You said 'maybe'. I can work with maybe."

Finis


	5. 3A Problematic Exs, Rhys Williams

- - - - -  
**III. Problematic Exs  
**_**B. Rhys Williams**_  
- - - - -

_October, 2026_

It was just one of those days where everything went well. Blue sky, no unexpected visitors, no psychotic breakdowns in the weevil population down in the cells. Owen was just waiting for the other shoe to drop, which made him all the jumpier when Jack appeared behind him. "Owen!"

Owen minimized his eighteenth game of Solitaire and hoped it wasn't the source of Jack's sudden interest. "Yes, Oh Fearless Leader?"

Jack leaned against the railing, arms crossed. "It's dead as a doornail. Go home, remind your daughter that you exist. If I'm feeling generous, I'll send Gwen home when she gets back, too."

--...--...--

Owen absently hummed a bit of whatever had been playing on the radio as he unlocked the deadbolt on his front door. As he got the door open, his mobile went off. He answered as he stepped into the entry way, rolling his eyes at the music he could hear blaring from Erin's room. Shaking his head, he closed to door and leaned back against it. He already knew what Gwen was going to say, but he'd learned a long time ago not to ignore the calls regardless.

"I hope you're phoning to tell me the good news."

"Owen, love, I'm sorry. Things have gotten complicated, won't be home until half-seven at the earliest."

He sighed, no happier for his accurate prediction. "Take your time, Gwen. We'll be fine. I think I can handle my daughter for a few hours."

"You'd never have guessed it when she was a baby."

"Oi! I wasn't that bad!"

"Oh yes you were, Owen." She laughed, and he found himself smiling in return.

"Take care, love. We'll be here when you get home, maybe order pizza."

"Whoa! Wait, stop, go back! Over there! Owen, I've got to run. Ta!"

He shook his head, clearing the screen on his mobile before putting it back into his pocket. Same old Torchwood. He shrugged out of his back pack, setting it down in the lounge before heading to Erin's room to share the good news.

--...--...--

Owen cleared his throat meaningfully as he leaned against the door jam of his daughter's room. He wasn't terribly surprised when he received no reply, given the volume of her stereo and the fact that she appeared rather involved with what he could only assume was her study partner. He cleared his throat again, and when that failed, he reached over and flicked off the switch which controlled the outlet she plugged her stereo into (something which had become necessary in the months following her twelfth birthday, and had proved incredibly handy over the years), as well as flicking _on_ the overhead light. _That_ got a reaction, and he suppressed a smirk as the two scrambled to opposite ends of the bed.

"D-Da?" Erin was blinking at him with wide eyes, and her friend didn't appear to be faring much better. "What are you- I mean, I can-"

"You can explain? I look forward to it." Owen grinned, unable to help himself, before taking pity on the girls. "Look, before we get into the obligatory shite, I'm bloody starving. How do you fancy a pizza?"

"I, um-"

"What about your friend?" He turned his attention to the other girl, who was sitting on the far side of the bed and attempting to blend into the woodwork. "What's your name?"

"Molly, sir."

"Molly, right. Any problems with pizza? No? Brilliant." He pushed off from the doorway, uncrossing his arms as he did so. "When I get off the phone, I want you two in the lounge." He shook his head as he started down the hallway, muttering under his breath. "And maybe by the time I get off the phone, I'll have an idea of what the bloody hell to do with you."

--...--...--

Owen took his time placing the order for pizza, putting away his backpack and jacket before making the call. All of which was to buy himself more time as he considered how to handle a situation that he had fully intended to foist off on Gwen. They had an agreement, and he'd been more than willing to concede that she could be scarier if it meant that she'd handle the awkward puberty and sex discussions. Not that he _couldn't_ give the talks, mind, but some things were better handled woman-to-woman. And Gwen could be fucking scary when she wanted to be, which covered his concerns when it came to potential boyfriends.

He hadn't really stopped to consider the potential girlfriend who was now sitting in his lounge.

--...--...--

Two pizzas and three episodes of _CSI: Miami_ later, Owen looked up gratefully from Erin's explanation of the attractiveness of Adam Rodriguez when he felt the tell-tale hum that meant Gwen was nearby. She was exhausted, and he left the girls to their conversation to meet her in the entryway as she slipped her shoes off.

He caught her about the waist, pulling her off balance so that she fell against his chest in a comfortable sprawl. It was a testament to how tired she was that the action didn't prompt its usual 'You bastard!'

"It's a bit past half-seven, love."

She nodded, leaving her head were it lay against his shoulder. "Long day. Warren's going to get himself killed one of these days."

He pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. "That bad, eh?"

"Worse." She sighed theatrically, a behaviour she'd picked up from Erin in recent years. "I can't believe Jack lets the boy have the keys to the SUV."

"Mmm." He nodded in sympathy, resting a hand comfortingly on her back.

"I hate tourists."

"I know, love." He rubbed his hand in slow circles, feeling her relax further, and almost felt guilty for what he was about to do. Almost. "Erin's got a girlfriend."

"Mmhmm." It took a moment for the words to sink in, but when they did, he wasn't disappointed. "Wait, what?" She pulled away far enough to look him in the eye. "That's not funny."

"She's fifteen, Gwen. Had to happen eventually. I'm just glad she can't get pregnant."

"But I..._fuck_." She looked away, emotions progressing from shock to resignation more quickly than he'd anticipated. "It's Molly, isn't it?"

He blinked in surprise. "You knew?"

Gwen shook her head. "Not as such. Erin's stopped off at her house a few times, and she came over a few weeks ago for some school project. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but looking back..."

He nodded. "She seems nice enough. I was going to have you take her home, but I don't want you driving again until you've had some sleep."

She opened her mouth to argue, but he placed a finger on her lips, silencing her. "I'm saying that as your doctor, Gwen, not just your husband. It's been long shifts all week, especially for the field teams. You stay here, have a chat with Erin. I gave her the basic ground rules, but it's not exactly my area of speciality. I reckon she can visit Tosh next time she's got a holiday, yeah?"

--...--...--

A few minutes later, Owen and Molly were on their way to her house, which turned out to be only a few blocks from James' old place. Gwen hadn't been kidding when she'd said it was the same neighbourhood. He considered his options as Molly fiddled with the radio, and eventually gave them all up as being far too cliché.

"Have you had sex before?"

He could see Molly's jaw drop in his peripheral vision, and realized he could have been a bit more tactful. Not that it had ever been his strong point, but it was always worth a try.

"Am I to take that as a 'no' ?"

She crossed her arms and stared out the window. "It's none of your bloody business, that's what it is."

"Right, that's a no." He paused a moment, concentrating on the road as he took a left through the roundabout. "You're sixteen, yeah?"

"Wait a minute, are you trying to _hit_ on me?"

"What?" It took a moment for the question to register, and another before he could figure out how she'd come to such a bizarre conclusion. It had been so long since he'd even considered sleeping with anyone besides Gwen, coming up on 20 years, that he hadn't even considered that perspective. He shook his head roughly in response to her question, and shivered as he remembered the one and only time he'd tried to have sex with someone else. "Even if you were my type, I'm not that kind of bastard."

Molly nodded warily. "Then what's with the questions?"

"Erin's young, Molly. She talks a good game, but that doesn't mean she's got the experience. I wanted to know where you stood, how much experience you've got. I- _fuck_!" He struck the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. "I'm going about this the wrong way, aren't I?"

He let his head fall back, leaning it against the headrest as he navigated the evening traffic. After a long moment, he tried again. "Look, I'm rubbish at the whole good intentions speech. That's Gwen's department. I just want to be sure that when all of this is over, you'll treat Erin like a human being. If this goes anywhere, or even if it doesn't, at the very least you'll be decent to her." He stopped at a red light and turned to face her. "Can you promise me that much?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. That's good. Because if I find out you haven't, believe me when I say that I will be the least of your problems."

She swallowed hard, any response she intended to make cut off as they turned onto her street.

"532, right?"

"Yes, it's on the left."

He pulled into an open spot and turned off the engine. "Right, then. Here we are." He looked her over, frowning at the uneasiness lurking in her eyes. "Don't go getting all worked up over what I said before; I told you I'm rubbish at this kind of thing." He reached over, placing a gentle hand on Molly's shoulder. "You seem like a nice girl, and I don't think you'll do wrong by Erin in any sense of the word. I just needed to make sure that you understand what will happen if you do." He pulled away, opening his door and stepping out onto the damp pavement. "Are you coming?"

She scrambled out of the car, pulling her backpack from the back seat before following. "You know, you really don't need to talk to my parents."

Owen shrugged, and kept walking toward the front door. "Bit late now." He pressed the bell, and watched with barely contained amusement as Molly fidgeted next to him. The amusement vanished when the inside door swung open. "_You_?"

He didn't even have time to place a name to the face before the man's punch landed. Owen staggered back, only to have his assailant grab him by the collar and drag him into the house, lodging him against the nearest vertical surface. "Molly, go up to your room."

"But Da-"

"_Now!_"

Owen coughed, eyes going wide as he finally recognized the man pinning him to the wall and coming dangerously close to strangling him. "Rhys?"

"What, the fuck, are you doing with my daughter?"

Owen was saved from answering by the sound of footsteps and a woman's voice he could only presume belonged to Mrs. Williams. "Rhys, is that Molly? Mrs. Harper called and said that her husband was... What on Earth is going on here?"

"This man is no good, Kay. I don't want him in my house, and I don't want him near my daughter."

"Rhys, for goodness sake."

"I'm serious, Kay. He's bad news."

She entered Owen's line of sight, placing a hand on Rhys' arm. "Rhys, let him up." Rhys released him slowly, keeping himself between Owen and Kay.

Owen reached up, wiping away the trickle of blood which had resulted from the first blow. He made an effort to stay calm, both for Molly's sake, because she seemed a nice enough girl and Erin liked her, and for Gwen's, because she'd had a shit day and didn't need the extra stress. "I'd say 'sorry to cause a fuss,' but then it wasn't really my fuss, yeah?"

He shook his head, backing toward the door. "Look, I didn't come here for a fight. I came to drop off Molly, explain why she's back late, that's it." He nodded to Kay, pointedly ignoring Rhys. "Mrs. Williams - can I call you Kay?"

"Of course."

"Right, then. _Kay_. The girls lost track of time, and Gwen asked me to give Molly a ride home." He reached back and opened the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be sure to keep my business out of your house. After all, that's where such..._unpleasantness_ belongs, yeah?"

He didn't stick around to hear Rhys' reply.

--...--...--

Gwen was still awake when he got home, but he could feel the effort involved in the struggle to stay that way. He popped his head into Erin's room briefly to say 'good night' and remind her that she had school in the morning, which meant getting up at six, which meant bed _sooner_ rather than _later_. Erin had simply rolled her eyes at him, a common enough occurrence, but there was an underlying anxiety to it that caught his attention. At first he'd thought it was the black eye, but he knew she was used to seeing unexplained injuries, and she hadn't glanced twice at it, so it must be something else. He leaned against the door jam as he'd done earlier in the evening, studying her.

"Everything all right, sweetheart?"

She looked up, obviously surprised that he was still there. "I'm fine, Da."

He crossed his arms and shifted to a more comfortable bracing point. "Bullocks."

"What?"

"I said bullocks. What happened, your mum put you through the ringer after I left?"

Erin frowned at him. "That's just it. She didn't. You didn't. If you're going to nuke out on me, I just want it over with."

Owen shook his head, sitting down on her bed so as to be at eye level. "I'm not going to 'nuke out' on you, Erin. Your mum and I, we just want you to be happy. Now, if you tell me that you and Molly have decided to run off and join the circus, then things might be a touch different." He paused, making a show of studying her expression for honesty. "You're not planning to run off and join the circus, are you?"

Erin laughed, and he was relieved at the lightness of the sound. "No, Da. Not until we finish school, at least."

He grinned, reaching out to gently cup her chin and hold her still as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "That's my girl. Always thinking ahead." He stood, making his way back to the door. He paused in the doorway, turning back to face her again. "If I'm being honest, love? It's a bit of a relief."

She blinked. "Really?"

He nodded. "Now, I don't have to worry about becoming a grandfather for a while. It'd give me grey hairs, and the last thing I need is more of those." He leaned over and pulled the door almost closed. "Night, Erin."

"Night, Da."

--...--...--

As he slid into bed behind Gwen, she sleepily rolled over to face him. He could feel her shaking off the lethargy as she reached up to trace the bruising around his left eye.

"What happened?"

He shrugged, looking away. "Bit of a disagreement with Molly's father. Nothing to worry about, we sorted it out."

Gwen frowned. "What happened?"

"I told you, nothing to worry about."

"_Owen_..."

He braced himself up on one elbow. "Have you ever met Molly's family, Gwen?"

She nodded slowly. "I met her mother last year at parents' night; she seemed nice enough."

"Well you missed the interesting part, then." He reached up with his free hand, gently probing the damaged tissue on his upper cheek. "Rhys is her dad."

"That's not funny, Owen."

He chuckled humourlessly. "No, it's really not." She opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off. "You see, here I was, thinking I'm doing a good thing introducing myself to the chit's parents, and what do I get for my trouble? A punch in the eye, is what. And what I'm damn lucky isn't turning out to be a concussion." He shook his head. "You sure knew how to pick 'em, love. Bastard accused me of having designs on his daughter, of all things."

She looked down, studying the pillow that lay between them and refusing to meet his eyes. "I-I'm sorry, Owen. I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

He didn't need the bond to know that she was telling the truth; it would likely have been worse, not better, if she'd been the one to encounter her old lover. She returned her attention to his face, tracing the bruising with her eyes, if not her fingers. "I know, love."

He shifted so that he was lying on his back, and a moment later she settled against his chest. Her breathing evened, growing nearer to the familiar pattern of sleep. She was close enough to the threshold that he startled when she spoke. "I was thinking."

"Hmm?"

"Before you got home, I was thinking. About Erin. About why we did what we did, how much we've missed. Was it worth it, Owen?"

"Don't be daft, Gwen. We gave her a choice, the chance to do whatever she wants with her life. Of course it was worth it." He played absently with the hair which trailed down her back from a loose ponytail. "Bit late to change things now, anyway. Just have to make the best of it."

She smiled, eyes closed as she enjoyed the simple touch. "Isn't that what we've been doing all along?"

He chuckled softly, shifting his focus to the tension in her neck, working with light, sure touches to smooth it away. "It is at that."

Finis


	6. 4 Office Politics

**Author's Note/Mea Culpa:** I apologize heartily that it's taken me so long to get this series (and, by extension, the "Bound Universe" as a whole) completed. The good news is that it *is* done, and I appreciate everyone's patience in the matter. I'm posting the last two segments today, after which the universe will be officially closed. These particular segments of BoB were also written as part of the 14valentines project over on LiveJournal. Today's topic: Health.

* * *

_Late September, 2011_

For the first three years of their marriage, Gwen and Owen _totally_ got cheated when it came to the anniversary department. There were any number of explanations for the unfortunate situation, but none of them really excused the fact.

First, there was the whole slew of practical jokes executed by their ever-so-caring coworkers. Jack had accidentally caused a cascade failure in one of the main hard drives when uploading the Intergalactic Kama Sutra, Illustrated (Edition #1135) and recoding the system to display it as the default screensaver. It would have been nothing more than a mild annoyance, if it weren't for the freak electrical storm which managed to wipe their primary non-terran-technology data storage device. The one that held the complete boot record in case they needed to wipe-and-reinstall the software on the more standard computers. It took sixteen hours of crawling through ventilation shafts and poking around in never used hallways and closets two floors below the main Hub to get the fused wires replaced and the main system back online. By the time they were done, all either of the lucky couple had wanted was a shower and eight hours of sleep. Ianto's ability to produce a cake out of thin air at ten o'clock at night only served to send them packing all the faster.

The next year, there was the Sysophean invasion attempt (you'd think by round four that they'd at least have started getting creative, but no. Still mind controlled mosquitoes. Every. Fucking. Time). And, of course, who can forget the praying mantis that tried to eat Cardiff? That particular homage to 1950's science fiction had eaten three days of their lives, a goodly chunk of A4161, half of the greenery in Bute Park, and an impressive percentage of the roses growing within the city limits. The only saving grace of the whole fiasco was that it wasn't a _real_ praying mantis; it only looked like one. Far better to have sacrificed some of the decorative flora (or, okay, most of the decorative flora in the bay area) than to have had to explain the deaths of the dozens (if not hundreds) of people required to fuel a carnivore that big for a three day rampage.

By the time their fourth anniversary rolled around, both Gwen and Owen were resigned to their apparently permanent co-dependancy. For one thing, there was the whole "not a fan of celibacy" thing, which had been established back when they were still sorting out the limits of the 'betrothal bond' which had failed to conveniently fade into oblivion as advertised. For another, they were both adults, and even they could acknowledge that there was a point at which you threw in the towel. That happened somewhere around the time Gwen's sister Sioned called to invite "the two of you" to come over for Easter dinner, with an emphasis on the "two." Gwen still hadn't broken the news to her family that Owen was anything other than a hasn't-left-yet boyfriend, and wasn't planning to anytime soon. Sioned could infer what she wanted, but there was absolutely no reason for their parents to think he was anything other than a passing fancy. Some fights just weren't worth the stress, especially when it wasn't as if she spent her days flashing around her wedding ring. Just like the fact that her parents were never going to see the title for the condo. What they didn't know couldn't cause her epic headaches, and she got enough of those at work as it was. From all reasonable perspectives, if their lives could indeed be considered reasonable, by year four she and Owen were roommates until they killed each other (or died in the line of duty, whichever came first).

After three years of progressively obnoxious demonstration of the Torchwood Law of Sewer Crawls (whenever convention says you should have an easy day, you _will_ have to crawl through at least fifteen feet of sewage in a spillway, and you will run out of clothing in your locker after doing so), Gwen seriously considered spending her fourth wedding anniversary in bed with a pillow over her head. She'd have succeeded, too, if the source of her bad luck hadn't demonstrated a complete lack of sense and answered his bloody phone. Of course, Owen had no use for anniversaries at the best of times, so expecting him to remember their wedding anniversary after three years of life burying it in sludge was probably asking a bit much. Given that he'd spent two of the last three biting everyone's heads off because it was 'that time of the month' and he handled PMS with about a tenth the decorum that she did, she wasn't sure _she_ wanted to remember her anniversary, either. Psychic bonds had their benefits, but the sharing of certain things was not one of them.

"Jack, it's four in the bloody morning. This had better be good." There was a pause, and the bed shifted as Owen stood and wandered into the lounge. "Okay, fine, so it's almost six. That doesn't mean I was awake, or that I have any obligation to be pleasant. Some of us do sleep, you know." She gave up on the pillow, pulling it off her face as she heard Owen turn on the electric kettle. She'd have been more concerned if she didn't know it was mostly an act for Jack's benefit - while not a morning person by nature, once Owen was awake he tended to stay that way (the trick was getting him to wake up in the first place). "Fine, we'll be there. Give me an hour. It's a bloody mail drop, they can damn well wait an extra ten minutes if it means Gwen doesn't bite my head off because she didn't get her tea."

There was a long moment of silence, and when Owen spoke again Gwen had to strain to make out his words over the sound of the near-boiling water. "I know it's our fucking anniversary, Jack. I might not care, but you can bet she does. I'd like it to be decent for her, yeah?"

Gwen's eyes widened in surprise, because that was about the last thing she'd expected to hear out of Owen. She had her suspicions about why Jack was sending them on a milk run on today of all days, and it wasn't as if she could blame him for it. It was probably in the best interests of British National Security for her and Owen to be well away from anything resembling a population centre if this year proved anything like the last three. She was so distracted by the unexpected consideration that she didn't even notice Owen wrapping up with Jack and returning to the bedroom with two mugs of tea. "You heard, then?"

She nodded, accepting one and taking a grateful sip. "Where's Jack got us off to, Swanbridge? Or, wait, better yet, I bet we're going to Macross."

"Close. He's got us going up to Bangor to meet some kind of intergalactic courier."

She didn't even bother to hide her groan of disappointment. "Can't they just crash in the Beacons like everyone else?"

"Don't ask me, love. I didn't make the appointment."

"You think Jack would mind if we called in sick?" She glanced up, giving him the best attempt at a 'come hither' stare she could muster on four hours of sleep. She had a feeling it wasn't very good, but she could tell that he appreciated the effort.

"Since he spent the second half of that call threatening to cut off bits I can't fix if we're not there right on schedule? I think he might be a tad sensitive about this one."

"That answers that, then." She drained the rest of her tea in one long swallow, setting the mug on the nightstand next to the bed once she'd finished. "Go, shower. I'll make some toast while I'm waiting."

He paused in the doorway to the bathroom, expression apologetic. "Gwen, about…" She shook her head, cutting him off before he could trip over the sentiment she could feel through the bond.

"It's all right, Owen. Probably better this way, hm?" He shrugged, and she was surprised at the wave of uncertainty she could feel through the bond. "If it makes you feel any better, you can make it up to me next week, yeah?"

He nodded once, uncertainty slipping away just as quickly as it had emerged, and disappeared into the bathroom. Gwen busied herself with the scavenger hunt that was their kitchen, trying to remember if either of them had bothered to buy bread in the last week.

^__^__^

To everyone's shock and amazement, absolutely _nothing happened_ on Gwen and Owen's fourth wedding anniversary. No monsters, no invasion attempts, not even any of Jack's more creatively disturbed exes (they'd run into several, over the years, so it was a valid category of "strange"). The meeting in Bangor lasted longer than expected, however, so the two impromptu diplomats ended up getting a room at a B & B that Owen tried (and failed) to pronounce the name of exactly three times before giving up and handing the phone to Gwen so she could let Jack know where they were. As a thank you for breaking the cycle of bad luck, Jack told them to take an extra two days getting back to Cardiff.

A day and a half into the unexpected vacation, they got a call from Tosh explaining that they'd had a _kelvar_ ship go down in the Beacons (surprise, surprise), and that the rest of the team would meet them at the crash site. Gwen wished it came as a surprise.

~ Finis ~


	7. 5 Inevitability

**Warning: **The final instalment of "Bits of Bliss" is set almost twenty five years after the events of "End of Days" (01x13). According to canon, the average life expectancy of a Torchwood Agent is optimistically 35. That is reflected here, which means that people have died and life has gone on.

* * *

_November, 2031_

Erin Harper was not a fan of karma. For one thing, she'd never seen conclusive proof that it actually existed. For another, it never seemed to do anything good for her. She wasn't egotistical enough to think that the really big things happened because of her actions, but the little shite was more than enough to convince her that someone out there had it in for her at the slightest excuse. For example, the one time she decided to bug out of the lab early and meet her friends at the pub to watch a match? There was an emergency of some kind that shut down one of the laboratory buildings. Not just _any_ laboratory building, but the one where her fourth-year project (and the hardcopies of all of her notes, and her specimens, and god she was fucked if anything serious had happened) were housed.

Leaving the notes behind had seemed like a great idea, back when she'd started the practice (of course, back in first year she'd rarely left the building except to eat or sleep, so it hadn't exactly been a sacrifice). Her advisor had endorsed the idea, saying that it would be good for her to have a definitive break between her academic work and "the rest of her life." Unfortunately, bright yellow caution tape told her that her mental health might well be taking a holiday, especially if it turned out that the local copper was there for more than just decorative purposes.

The one thing working in her favor was that she knew the PC. They'd been in the same classes first and second years, before he'd decided that uni wasn't for him and he'd rather get a paying job and start living his life. "Evening, Dan. Got you working overtime, eh?"

He shrugged, giving her a small smile. "Pays the bills, eh?"

She nodded, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jacket as the wind kicked up. "Don't suppose you know what all the fuss is about, do you?"

Dan shook his head, casting a brief look over his shoulder at the innocent (and perfectly normal looking) biochem building. "You know how it is, nobody tells the PCs anything. Just show up and do as we're told."

"So who's doin' the tellin' today?"

"Some top secret clean-up group, that's what I hear." He gestured over his shoulder at a man standing just outside the main entrance to the building. "Torchwood, or some such nonsense. Why we need bloody specialists to clean up a tiny little chemical spill is beyond me, but I guess that's why I'm not wearing the fancy suits. Not that _they're_ wearing fancy suits, mind you."

"Right, course not." Erin nodded, cutting him off before he could launch any further into one of his favorite rants. She'd grown up in Cardiff, everyone there knew exactly how big of a headache Torchwood could be, even if none of them knew _what_ it was. "So he's the bloke who knows what's going on, yeah?"

"He's the one's been givin' orders, him and his team."

"I'm in a bit of a bind, here, see. I've gone and left all of my notes up on the third floor, and my advisor's going to _kill me_ if I don't have them for our meeting tomorrow." She bit her lip, glancing back over at the man leaning against the doors. "You think you could take a look at my ID, all official like, and let me through to talk to him? I just need a minute, and I promise I won't cause a fuss, but if I could at least find out what's going on…"

Dan glanced back over his shoulder again, then over to where the small crowd of onlookers had been earlier in the afternoon, only to find that the students had decided it wasn't worth braving the damp chill for a chance at some gossip. "All right, go ahead." He waited for her to fish out her ID and took a moment to examine it carefully before handing it back and lifting the tape for her to duck under. "You'll come right back, yeah? Boss'll have my head if he finds out I let anyone in."

She mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key as she slipped her ID back into her pocket. "I'll just be a tick." She jogged over to the containment officer, who ignored her in favor of talking into his earpiece. She waited for him to acknowledge her, crossing her arms against the cool fall air. She almost cut in, wanting to just find out what she could and leave again, but he sounded angry enough that she didn't want to risk it.

"Well you get someone here, and you do it now. I don't care if they're short-handed, we're down two men right now and this thing is not happy. They can spare _someone_." He turned, and frowned when he realized Erin was still standing there. "Look, I've got to deal with something. Just, make it happen, okay?" He tapped the earpiece once before turning his attention fully to Erin. "Can I help you, Miss…?"

"Harper." Erin squared her shoulders and tried not to look as nervous as she felt. "It's Erin Harper."

"Huh. Guess I owe Kim an apology after all." The man took a minute to look her over, letting out a low whistle. "Starting 'em young these days, aren't they? Although I guess wasn't much question for you, what with your father an all."

Erin blinked and tried not to look as lost as she felt. "My father?"

"You're Owen's girl, right? Right shame, what happened to him." The man shook his head sympathetically. "Never mind your mum; wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. Never seen a psychic bond end well, and I've been in this business for longer than you've been alive." He shuddered dramatically.

It was surreal, a stranger knowing so much about the incident that had torn her family apart. Especially considering that she herself didn't know what had happened. She nodded mechanically, trying to figure out how to learn more without giving away her own ignorance. Her parents had both worked for the Crown, but she'd never known more than that. It was important work, or so her uncle and aunt told her, so important that her parents couldn't have her with them when she was little. It was always "we'll talk when you're older", and then one day her da had died in some kind of lab accident, and her mam had locked herself away, and the only thing her uncles and aunts would tell her was to give it time. "Get out," her Uncle Jack had said, "See the sights, meet some people. Your mother needs space, right now. There's nothing you can do to help her, so you need to take care of yourself." He'd been the one to arrange for her to attend university in Oxford, pulling strings to allow her to go a year early as long as she passed her A-Levels that spring.

The man cleared his throat, and she realized that she'd missed something. "I'm sorry?"

"I said, call me Rob. Much as I'd like to catch up on the gossip from the Hub, we've got an airborne critter mucking up the atrium in here like you wouldn't believe. Work first, talk later, yeah?"

"Um, sure. But, I'm not-"

"Don't worry, this is nothing compared to that pteradactyl you guys have over in Cardiff. Gotta say, I still can't believe Harkness keeps the thing around as a mascot, but I guess quite a lot of his decisions make no sense to the uninitiated, eh?" His earpiece beeped, and he tapped it as he led her into the building. Erin considered just getting herself conveniently misplaced, but couldn't bring herself to do it. She'd be in trouble when Torchwood, the urban legend of Cardiff that apparently wasn't an urban legend after all, figured out she wasn't supposed to be there, but Rob had said that he'd known her da. More importantly, he knew what had happened to her da. She couldn't just walk away knowing she might have been able to learn the truth.

"Germaine, go. Wait, you did _what?_ Is it hurt? Well, that's something, at least. I'm just getting in now, had a problem getting an outside signal due to something down in the basement. No, I don't know what it was, let's just focus on the positives, shall we? Right, look, I'll be there in a tick and I've got Harper out of Cardiff along for the ride." He stopped, midway up the first flight of stairs in the atrium, and Erin nearly walked right into him before catching herself. He turned, the easygoing expression on his face shifting to cautious neutrality. "What do you mean Cardiff told us to piss off? Right. No, I understand." He tapped his earpiece again, ending the communication, before casually pulling a pistol from his back pocket and removing the safety. "Well, Ms. Harper, seems there's been a bit of a mix-up." Erin swallowed hard, or tried to. Her mouth was so dry there wasn't really anything to swallow, but the attempt was reflexive. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. My boss will be down in a minute, and we'll get everything sorted out."

Erin nodded, and tried to convince herself to relax. It almost worked, up until the point where her aunt's voice came echoing into the atrium. "Rob? What did you mean when you said Harper was…Oh."

That was it, Erin was officially dead. Completely, utterly, and totally dead.

^__^__^

"There are things you need to understand, Erin, before I let you make this choice."

Toshiko's quiet voice echoed in Erin's ears long after the meal they shared. It haunted her all the way back to her room in the hall, and through the hours she spent curled up in the library because the biochem building was still closed down while they cleaned up from whatever it was that had been chewing on the banisters and spraying noxious green liquid all over the glass panels in the atrium.

The stories Tosh had shared were beyond anything Erin could have imagined. It wasn't the existence of Torchwood that was incredible, it was the truth behind the rumours that made no sense. Except at the same time, it made perfect sense. So many little things that she'd brushed off now coalesced into the kind of story science fiction authors could only drool over. Except that every good story requires a tragedy, and her da had fallen into that role a little too effortlessly, dragging the rest of them along with him. Erin didn't care that both her parents had beaten the odds for over two decades, because in the end the odds had caught up with them. She'd lost her mam when her father died, that much was even more clear in light of her aunt's explanations. Now, at least Erin could understand why things had happened - why they had needed to happen the way they did.

And therein lay the heart of the trouble. Along with tales both fantastic and mundane, Aunt Tosh had left her with a choice. It was like something out of _The Matrix_, only this was overwhelmingly _real_. Her parents had never wanted her to join Torchwood - on that point, Tosh was emphatically clear. Erin's parents were the exception and not the rule, just as she herself was. Torchwood agents gave up many of the trappings of a normal life in exchange for the secrets they carried.

"They wanted better for you, sweetheart. But you're not a child anymore, so I'm going to let you decide what's best for you. I'll be back in two days, I need your final decision then." Tosh had kissed her forehead before she left, forcing Erin to lean down to allow the ritual that dated back as far as she could remember. "I'll speak to your supervisor about your research; the building's going to be closed down for at least a week until the damage is repaired, so you should have plenty of time to think things over."

It was a simple decision, but one which would impact the rest of her life drastically. The easy option would be to take the pill, wake up having spent two days unconscious following her ill-advised entry to the biochem building while a hazardous chemical was being pumped through the heating system. It was what her parents had wanted for her, and a big part of her wanted to obey their wishes. Which led her to the not-so-easy option: don't take the pill, sign the recruitment forms, and keep her memories. Her mother would respect her wishes, given time, and it might even make things better between them now that Erin could ask all the questions that had been forbidden before. She would know how her father died, and just as importantly she'd know _why_. She knew she'd die young, Tosh hadn't sugar-coated that aspect of the job. Thirty to thirty-five was the life expectancy of a Torchwood agent, only one in two-hundred made it to retirement-eligible. Only two of the original five who'd been responsible for bringing Torchwood Three back into service were still alive, three out of six if her mother was included in the tally, and Uncle Jack was some weird statistical anomaly.

Erin understood why her parents had made their choices, and even why they'd made certain choices for her that she'd resented for most of her young life, most notably leaving James and Janet to raise her right up until they'd decided to move back to the London area to be closer to her grandmother. But out of everything, it was the possibilities that Torchwood represented that she couldn't turn down. Erin had to believe that her mam would understand the fact that, when the choice had finally come, it wasn't a choice at all.

~ Finis ~

[End Universe]


End file.
